Astral Shadows
by Divine Demonic Assassin
Summary: Meoquanee-Tasarla Burtenshaw is not a Witch. To her father and his people she is a Shaman. To her mother and her people she is a Mystic. However, her parents' friends have called for their aid. Setimika Dream Stalker and Syeira Burtenshaw do not abandon friends in need. Hogwarts is a place for Witches. Not Shamans. Culture shock is an interesting thing for both sides... Oc Main
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Harry Potter and related characters.**

 **There will be OOCness and OCs you have been warned.**

"In addition to our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Hogwarts will be housing a magical family. Setimika Dream Stalker," a tall Native American man steps out of the shadows of the Great Hall, "Syeira Burtenshaw," a woman of average height appears out of one of the Hall's many torches, "and their daughter Meoquanee-Tasarla Burtenshaw."

A girl of fifteen with dark skin makes her way soundlessly toward the Wizard that called her name. Whispers and auras swirl around her; she brushes them aside without care. A distinct aura catches her eye and the girl stops, turning to look at the Wizard it belongs to. Bottle green meets jade as Meoquanee spots the boy that holds the aura and she pauses. She can feel her father's steady gaze and mother's curiosity upon her as the Roma-Indian girl studies the boy.

His natural aura is a bright lightning green, but something dark and unnatural swirls within it. The main focus point of the darkness emanates from the lightning scar on his forehead, pulsing with its own life. Eyes narrowing, Meoquanee strikes at it with her own aura. The _corupţie_ (taint) howls and curls within itself, withdrawing from the boy's aura. The boy himself cringes and grasps at the scar in a sign of pain. His eyes now water as he meets her gaze with suspicion.

Meoquanee dismisses him from her mind, deciding that will be too much effort to speak to the boy about his _corupţie_ right now. More mutterings and whispers rise around her now, speaking of a 'Dark Lord' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Her father raises a dark eyebrow in question, but does not push when she shrugs. Even the teachers now look at her warily, with the exception of Filius Flitwick—an old friend of her mother's—and Severus Snape—her father's friend. Severus merely quirks an eyebrow in question and Filius grins knowingly. When the entire family is standing before Dumbledore, facing the multitude of students, the Headmaster makes a final announcement.

"Setimika Dream Stalker is going to be teaching a class about Curses as well as Occlumency and Legilimency. He will be hosted by Slytherin." Excited murmurs emerge from the able of silver and green. "His lovely wife Syeira will be teaching a class about Foreign Magic and helping our Groundskeeper with Care of Magical Creatures. She will be housed by Ravenclaw." Dumbledore continues with a smile and twinkle in his eye that makes Meoquanee uneasy. She projects the feeling to her parents who give whispers of acknowledgement. The old Wizard places both hands on Meoquanee's shoulders—feelings of regret, self-assured, risk everything for the 'Greater Good'—and finishes with, "Their daughter is going to join as a classmate to all of you, so let's get her sorted."

Sitting on the stool, the Roma-Native American holds herself stiffly as a weather-beaten, powerful Artifact is placed upon her head. "Well, well. What is it we have here? A Shaman and Mystic, you are powerful indeed child. Neither Hufflepuff nor Gryffindor would suit you in the slightest. Now, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. To be honest, my dear Shaman neither fits you well enough for me to have a solid decision. I'm afraid you must make the choice."

Choose between snakes and ravens? How amusing, all things considered. But… Meoquanee's emerald gaze travels to the boy with the tainted aura. _Which has more interaction with that boy? The one with the_ corupţie.

"Oh, you speak of the Potter boy. He is in Gryffindor, so the House to have the most contact would be Slytherin. Are you sure that is the one you want? You can't change your mind later."

 _That one. He is…interesting_. _As a_ șaman (shaman) _it is my duty to help. Also if Mother finds out she will hound me to help him._

"Oh, I see. Trying to avoid difficulties. How very…Slytherin of you. Very well, you shall be _SLYTHERIN_!"

Cheers come from the table of silver and emerald, clearly smug that they have gained the new student as well as a teacher. As Meoquanee's father takes the hat and helps her off the stool the girl looks to her mother. Syeira give a secretive smile, winking at her daughter—reassuring, proud, happy—before allowing Flitwick to escort her to the table of teachers.

 _You are all right? It took much time for the item to make a decision._ Setimika's voice in his daughter's mind allows her to breathe easily—protective, loving, strong—as he walks her to the table of snakes.

 _Yes. It wished to speak with me. Apparently I am not suited for any house so I had to choose._ Meoquanee sits in between a pale blonde—smug, noble, decisive—and a male teen whose skin is nearly matching hers—playful, sly, proud—accepting the hands held out to help her onto the bench. She smoothes the out the wrinkles in her skirt, where there had been black is now the green of the Slytherin uniforms but the white remains.

"Hello, Draco Lucius Malfoy," white-blond, almost silvery hair rests over a pointed, fine boned face that is clearly of nobility, "at your service. My best friend Blaise Zabini sits on your right."

Meoquanee finds her hand taken by the dark skinned teen. High cheekbones and long, slanting dark eyes, mouth pulled into a charming smile. He kisses the back of her tanned hand. "Charmed to meet you, my lady."

She raises an eyebrow at the boy—though that could change—an amused smile ghosting her lips. "Meoquanee-Tasarla Veshni Jukkel Burtenshaw. I am pleased to make your acquaintances." The Roma tugs her hand gently away from the darker boy and turns to study to food. She doesn't recognize many things on the table and turns to the pale teen. "Draco, I have not eaten many of these foods before, would you suggest something?"

Storm grey eyes meet hers and full lips curl into a smile—pleased to have her rely on him, even for something so small. "Of course. Is there anything you are allergic to, or simply don't enjoy?"

"No. We do not waste, so I have no preferences. Though I am rather fond of Japanese food and puddings." She has not spoken so much for quite sometime, her voice is husky and soft from the disuse.

Draco inclines his head and points out several dishes, the ones that are not so extravagant with spices. Thoughtful of him, considering that he doesn't know what types of food she normally eats. Blaise also directs her attention to several different puddings, jade shines in delight at the sight. She places a small serving of the things Draco has suggested on one plate, then several bowls for the different puddings. She carries a light conversation with the two Slytherins when they are rudely interrupted by a hard feminine face and voice.

"Well, clearly Mother was right when she said the Gypsies are uncultured heathens. She can't even recognize the most basic of foods. Must not steal the right food then, filthy Gyppie thief that she is."

"Pansy!" The storm clouds harden to granite. "That is incredibly rude! What the hell makes you think you can say that?"

"It rather makes you look like the 'heathen'. Such degrading terms to speak to such a powerful Mystic." Near-black eyes carry a harsh light.

Meoquanee says nothing, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth napkin before setting it down on the table. Silently she stands, moving away from the table, and walks around the long table. The Great Hall has fallen silent, watching her every movement. The Native American comes to stand off to the side of 'Pansy', appearing completely calm. She raises a delicate hand, pointing to Pansy. " _Ridicǎ-te_." (Stand up)

"What are you—EEEEEEK!" The pug-nosed girl shrieks as she is forcibly yanked from her seat and forced to face the new transfer student. "LET ME GO! LET GO OF ME YOU FILTHY GYPPIE—!"

Meoquanee has no change in demeanor as the girl shrieks like a caught chicken. The Roma-Indian does not tolerate racial slurs against her blood, call her anything else but something like that will not go without consequence. " _Nepoliticos fatǎ_." (Rude girl)

"PUT MISS PARKINSON DOWN, MISS BURTENSHAW!" An older Witch is striding toward Meoquanee's back, magic crackling around her. "THIS SORT OF BEHAVIOR WILL NOT BE TOLERATED—!"

Meoquanee sees that the pale and dark teens from earlier have come to stand behind her, blocking the teacher from having a clear shot at the Roma's back. Her father and uncle are striding down toward her as well; Meoquanee's mother bares her teeth at the squealing pig—irritation, pride, permission to continue—but remains seated at the head table.

"Minerva, if you continue to yell at my student you will get nowhere." Silky, slippery, Severus cuts off his colleague. "Burtenshaw, let Miss Parkinson go. We will go deaf otherwise from her shrieking."

Meoquanee complies, not before she speaks a Curse. " _Cu adevărat esti un porc murdar, guițat. Deveniți astfel atunci când se comportă ca atare._ " (Truly you are a filthy, squealing pig. Become as such when you behave as such.) She drops the girl, turning to face the three adults. The woman has black-grey streaked hair pulled into a painful bun. Stern, wrinkled face with beady brown behind square glasses—amused, outraged, for the 'Greater Good'—glowers at Meoquanee.

The woman opens her mouth to speak—scold, punish, deduct points?—but is distracted by the sound of a pig. Everyone—Draco, Blaise, Father, Uncle, herself—moves to look at the decent sized pig sitting on the floor wearing the Slytherin uniform. Draco's mouth twitches in refraining from smiling while Blaise openly snickers. Laughter pours out from the students—hysterical, she deserves it, that is brilliant—and some teachers. The older Witch is gaping at the sight; Severus keeps his stern look but obsidian glitters with amusement; Setimika allows a flicker of laughter over his face before becoming stoic once more.

"Draco, Blaise, would either of you mind showing me to the dormitory? I feel rather tired from today's traveling." Meoquanee covers her mouth in a yawn.

"Of course." The pale young noble extends and arm, taking it—accomplishment, curiosity, amusement—she allows him to lead her out of the Great Hall. Blaise walks beside her—glee, acceptance, appreciation—forming a solid wall between her and potential spells. Both ignore the teacher that calls out after them, the trio leaving the Hall without hesitation.


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own Harry Potter and related characters.**

 **There will be OOCness and OCs you have been warned.**

 **Thank you to TheColourField for being the first to favorite and follow this story.**

"Meoquanee."

The Roma-Indian turns to her father, stepping away from the drawer that will hold her clothes for the year. The man's shirtless form stands in the doorway, tribal markings across his chest similar to those upon her own. " _Tdaw-tdoye_." (Father)

He steps into her room, black eyes taking in everything about the silver and green housing. "You cast a curse earlier." Her father never asks questions, he never speaks unless he is sure of his statements. Setimika leans against the fireplace, looking at her expectantly.

"It will not hurt her." Meoquanee feels as if she needs to defend herself. She hates to disappoint or shame either of her parents, but her father's approval affects her more than her mother's. "When she acts as she did earlier the girl will become a pig. After a minute or two she will be human again."

Setimika nods, gazing over her shoulder and out the underwater window in deep thought. His face is calm, placid even, not revealing any thoughts that run through his mind. He is silent long enough that Meoquanee begins to worry; she shuffles forward, staring down at her feet. The Kiowa warrior shifts slightly, placing a hand behind his daughter's head and bringing her forehead to rest over his heart. "I am not mad, _tdahn_. You defended you and your mother's people. There were other ways to handle the encounter. What has been done has been done." (star)

Meoquanee relaxes against her father's much larger body, leaning her weight against him. He strokes her hair, tension relaxes and becomes drowsy. Both Native Americans hear soft steps coming to the door, opening and closing the heavy oak. Herbs and smoke mix with Setimika's scent of sun and blood, Meoquanee recognizes her mother right away.

"Aw, my two favorite people are together. _Vin aici, steaua mea_." (Come here, my star) Soft, tender hands pull Meoquanee from her father to her mother's embrace. " _Nu puteți dormi în picioare. Tu nu sunt_ Moonwalker _. Fata naivă_." (You can not sleep standing. You are not Moonwalker. Silly girl) Lightly calloused hands tug and guide the fifteen year old to the new bed. Larger, harder hands pull back the silver and green comforter and sheets. Both pairs of hands help her into bed, covering Meoquanee with warmth and safety. Barely chapped lips press a kiss to the nearly sleeping girl's forehead. " _Dormi bine, dragă. Fie ca visezi de stele_." (Sleep well, darling. May you dream of stars)

" _P'aw soat ahn p'own ahn_. _Kxaw_." (The thunder is sounding along. Lay down)

# #

Meoquanee finds that morning comes much too early for her liking, being in a place that is new makes it difficult for her to sleep. The two hour time difference is no help in this matter. The dark-skinned girl yawns much like a cat before sliding out of her bed to the rug. Stone is always cold, in mornings it the equivalent of an icebox. Fingers shuffle through a closet, finding the school's regulated uniform toward the back.

" _Nu în această viață_." (Not in this lifetime)

A long skirt with blue detailing is freed from its hanger, smooth hand passing over it to turn the blue green. Next a swoop-necked blouse covered in tiny sparrows emerges from a drawer, which are also turned the green of the 'House'. Matching accessories make their way to adorn the Roma-Indian, all in silver. A silvery green comb runs through soullessly black hair, taming and smoothing it. It then twists around and through the hair, giving it the half-up half-down style that is currently popular amongst Roma teens.

Satisfied with her appearance, Meoquanee strides over to her door. Opening it, she is pleasantly surprised to find that her uncle is standing behind it. Even with her heels the Potions Master is still a good foot taller than her, making her nose crinkle in distaste. "When am I to be taller, Uncle? You, Father, and nearly every other male I know are taller than me by a good foot. It is incredibly annoying."

A black eyebrow rises in bemusement of the Roma teen's rant. "Good morning to you as well, Meo. I am doing well, thank you for asking." Severus gives a slight smile at the girl's early morning mutterings. His niece has never been entirely alert in the mornings, let alone six-thirty a.m., giving him the amusement of Meoquanee the teen's mind and not the cool intellectual mind of Meoquanee the Shaman-Mystic.

"Why the dungeons? It's too freaking cold down here. I mean, maybe if there were some heating Charms for the floor it would be okay. But nope! Ice-cold stone floors doing their best impression of Russia in the winter." Meoquanee is leaning heavily against her godfather/uncle, using him as support so that she doesn't fall. Early mornings are not the Kiowa teen's friend. She finds herself unable to fully awaken without hot chocolate. Explaining her lack of surprise that her uncle has taken her to the kitchens instead of the Great Hall.

If anyone besides family sees her like this, it will ruin everything she has been building toward. Slumping into a wooden chair, night-black hair slides forward in pieces, resting on folded arms. Jade becomes hidden as the Roma girl falls into a doze, waiting for the hot chocolate and treat. Affectionate the feeling of a large hand resting on her head brings Meoquanee blearily back into the waking world. Fumbling hands cradle the steaming mug, tower of whipped cream dotting on the nose as it is hastily brought to the mouth. "Mmmph!" Scalding the roof of her mouth, the Kiowa-Roma girl hastily puts down the mug, watering eyes ask for water.

Severus eats his own breakfast, keeping his niece company for her first day. They go over her schedule, tips on what teacher prefers, pointers on not getting detentions. Finally it is time for the two to join the rest of Hogwarts, Meoquanee becomes quieter, each step bringing her closer to peers that are hardly on the same intellectual level as herself. She mentions this to her uncle, he does agree despite how ostentatious it may sound to the other students. Forcing an entrance into the Great Hall, the Roma places a mask on, becoming Shaman-Mystic Meoquanee.

Meoquanee-Tasarla is placed upon a shelf for later use.


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own Harry Potter and related characters.**

 **There will be OOCness and OCs you have been warned.**

 **Thank you to TheColourField, Idek1998, Snowball A.K.A. WinterWolf, for favoriting and following this story. You help me get in gear to write more chapters. This one's for you guys. I hope you like it.**

Hogwarts, Meoquanee has decided, is entirely too large and entirely too _alive_ for her to feel any sort of comfort. She would classify the castle as an Artifact exception being its sheer, towering _size_. Artifacts can be held, handled with care, treasured even if not used. Taken care of as one would a god's altar or shrine. This… _castle_ has nothing of the sort. No one respects it, never treated with care or regard. No _thankfulness_ for the simple fact that it is a home that welcomes them without hesitation. Lunch is the point when the Roma-Indian nearly takes her increasing anger out on a pair of older students that _defile_ the ancient ground as if nothing more than a broken building.

"Meoquanee-Tasarla, right?" A distinctly masculine—still growing, confident, nervous—speaks from the shadow appearing over her prone form.

Eyes stolen of a fox lazily open, more gold than green. "I believe it is rude to ask for one's identity before giving it yourself." Voice no louder than the breeze carrying across the Lake somehow makes the teen feel as though a mother is scolding him.

"Oh, er, sorry. I'm Harry Potter. I'm in Gry—"

The fox eyed Shaman sits upright fluidly, one movement that would take many three or four. "Gryffindor. Yes, your name travels quite frequently through the slack lips of the population. Which makes one curious as to what you have done to gain such fame." Drapes of black silk fold neatly over a tan arm as the Roma's head tilts to the side. "Or infamy as one might see it."

For several moments, the boy gapes in resemblance to a dying fish. Swallowing, the often-spoken-of teen manages words. "Y-you mean you _don't_ know who I am? You haven't heard of me at all?" The sentence—hope, caution, a decided cheerfulness—is not what one would expect from a teen idol.

Neck strains for the young Mystic to meet the boy's gaze, arm sweeps out to extend an invitation. "Sit. My name is Meoquanee-Tasarla Veshni Jukkel Burtenshaw. Inform me as to why I should know of you? A boy with a _corupţie_ that he does nothing about, rounded eyeglasses, and a seeming following behind him." Green with diamond pupils never waver from the reflected green with round pupils as she speaks and he sits.

Harry is reluctant to speak of his 'fame'—'infamy' really is better suiting—to the one person who does not seem to know of it. The focused, slit gaze of the transfer student ostensibly ignores his wants. Compelled to speak of his life, the Boy-Who-Lived has words stumbling, falling from his lips in a waterfall. He cannot bring himself to stop, looking into these eyes—wise, dangerous, listening—of a wild fox. Thoughts he has never voiced but desperately wants—needs—to; feelings never revealed spread before him—cards upon a table; impulses—actions—he has refrained until he wants to scream; intelligence—street more than books—hidden away from those who would exploit him.

This woman—her eyes cannot be that of a girl's—does not move, nor make a sound during the boy's tale. Meoquanee-Tasarla is attentive, giving all the attention that he silently craves from the moment of competent thought, feeling. When he has finished, the wool has all become yarn that sits in a pile between the two. Harry waits for her to dismiss him, laugh it off as all the others have done. Quickly he is corrected of his assumptions of her personality.

"You have had an unwanted Fate spun from the moment of your birth it seems." Jade eyes gaze past the troubled teen, seeing what he cannot. "Many things have interrupted your tapestry, however it continues on despite. I can not fix this; the Fates are clear in this matter. I can, however, assist you." The stones slide back to rest upon the colored glass before them. "If you so desired."

"Please!" The scarred boy knows he is pleading—desperate, thankful, a weight has disappeared—he could not care less. The Slytherin before him is not what his preconceptions believed; willing to wipe away what he has been told and partially believed for years.

Meoquanee's eyes soften, the boy is so desperately troubled and in need of guidance. She cannot give him all that he needs, some he must find for himself. The Roma-Kiowa teen _can_ offer him paths unexplored, secrets kept, power unrevealed; new wool for his tapestry. "I will help with what I can, Harry. But I will not give you the answers. It is forbidden for Shamans and Mystics to freely abuse their gifts, but we are duty-bound to assist those who reach for us.

"I will offer paths you may not like or have ever considered before, but I will not tell you which is right. I will lead you to secrets that may have been better left buried or have been purposely kept from you, but I will not tell you what they are or what to do with them. I will help you expand and grow your power in ways that will hurt and heal, but I will not do anything until you are ready. I am willing to guide you, Harry James Potter, but I will never give you anything that you must find yourself. Are you willing to trust someone whose Magic and beliefs are so vastly different from your own that you may not wish to entertain the ideas?"

She watches the teen turn her words through his mind. Pleased at how careful he considers her offer. Draco and Blaise will possibly be unhappy with the developed relationship, but they will not openly oppose her. Mother and Father will instruct and push where they are able and allowed, Father with more leeway as a Warrior than Mother as a Mystic. Her darkened uncle will not be pleased, but he will help her nonetheless. Her uncle Filius will be delighted and eager to teach further than what the school allows.

"Yes. Everyone might not be happy with this, but I am willing to trust you." Magnified bottle-green eyes match narrowed fox-pupil jade eyes, unwavering in fashion. "When can you start? What do I need to do?"

"What is the time?"

Startled with the seemingly off topic question, Harry nevertheless obediently looks at his wrist. "It's—wait! My watch! Where'd it go? Did I drop it? Bloody hell."

"This?" Long dark fingers dangle the missing device. A rose curls into an amused smile. "My first advice to you is that you are aware of your surroundings. There is more to Magic than a simple incantation and waving around an Enchanted stick. Magic _is_ your surroundings. Now, I will keep this and you will attempt to relieve me of it _without_ my noticing and your 'wand'. At the end of the day I will hand this back and we shall repeat the process tomorrow. Of course," sly michevious light enters the Shaman's fox eyes, "you will need to keep me from taking it. Again, _without_ your 'wand'."

The Kiowa Shaman stands in a single movement. Walking, the teen spots Draco and Blaise lounging near the Entrance Way, two predators hidden within human skin. A rustle, Meoquanee transfers the wrist accessory to the other robe pocket. The two 'purebloods' straighten at the sight before them, a Gryffindor appearing to bully a fellow Snake. Both males start toward her, intent on making their claim clear.

She is in-between the territorial Slytherins, placing delicate hands on tense biceps. "Draco, Blaise, he has requested my help. He is not acting in maliciousness, but rather on my instruction." The two are bemused, she smiles with teeth. "I can not ask you to stop disliking him, but I do request that you are civil in my presence."

Draco narrows his storm-cloud eyes at Potter, suspicious of the Gryffindor. Yet as much as he wishes to hex the other male for _daring_ to ask for the Mystic's assistance, he will refrain. The silver-white blonde instead smiles beguilingly. "If you so insist, Meoquanee-Tasarla. Forgive me if I prefer to keep an eye on him to ease my own concerns."

The Shaman-Mystic merely pats his arm. "There is no forgiveness needed, Draco. Nor for you Blaise." Accepting the Malfoy's offered arm, the Kiowa-Roma extends her hand toward the blonde's counterpart. "Are you coming, Blaise?"

The nearly-black toned Slytherin shakes his head. "No, you two go on ahead. I have something to make clear with Potter." At the narrowed fox eyes, Blaise holds his hands up in an innocent gesture. "Nothing of concern, just what he should expect as a reaction to associating with us. I don't believe he's entirely thought that part through. Advice, nothing more, Lady Mystic." Bowing over the offered hand with a kiss.

Rose lips tilt in an amused, knowing smile. "Very well, Blaise. We will see you shortly then." The shorter girl allows the tall blonde to escort her to their next class. Nothing is spoken between the two, an understanding is made and an alliance carved.

Harry watches Zabini warily, striding through the corridors with him. Nothing has been said, that will not last much longer. Zabini steers the glasses-wearing Gryffindor into an empty classroom. The Boy-Who-Lived allows himself to be directed, resisting would only cause a scene he wishes to avoid.

The dark skinned Italian closes the door, moving to lean his weight against it. He appraises the famous teen, methodically going through his knowledge of the other male. Blaise sighs, crossed arms. "All right, Potter. There's a few things we need to go over."


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own Harry Potter and related characters.**

 **There will be OOCness and OCs you have been warned.**

 **Thank you to TheColourField, Idek1998, Snowball A.K.A. WinterWolf, for favoriting and following this story.**

 **The little bit at the end kind of wrote itself. I decided to leave it simply for humor purposes. It is in no way meant to be taken seriously.**

Sitting on a wooden stool is not the most comfortable thing especially when a monotone ghost repeats his lecture from years previous; Harry takes no notice of this now. Mind preoccupied with the earlier encounter. He scarcely believes that he didn't dream it. The open feeling where his wristwatch resides proves him otherwise. His lunch had not at all gone the way he pictured, didn't even mean to go talk to the girl lying peacefully near the Lake. Something directed his feet to her side, tugging insistently on an emotion that he has yet to identify.

~ _"The first thing to be made clear is that while Draco and I will not stop you from meeting with Meoquanee-Tasarla, if you pose any sort of threat to her we will step in. Keep your fellow Gryffindors in line. They won't like your association with her simply because she was Sorted into Slytherin._ _If you don't make it clear that she is off limits, Draco and I will be happy to correct that. Keep in mind that we won't be_ nearly _so nice as you would be."_ ~

Blaise Zabini surprised the Boy-Who-Lived with the amount of intensity the Slytherin used. From what the glasses-wearing boy had heard, Zabini is a Slytherin that is apathetic about everything. None of that showed when the dark toned Italian had taken him aside. The Slytherin had—is—deathly serious about what he said to Harry, that much is clear.

The Gryffindor looks sideways at his friends, pondering. What Zabini said is true, the Gryffindors will _not_ like that one of their own is heading to the 'Dark'. Meoquanee-Tasarla doesn't seem all that much like a Slytherin to him. She _did_ mention that her methods of help would be unorthodox; perhaps stereotypes are not always applicable. Malfoy certainly changes around her, a courteous gentleman. Reflecting to his first time on the Hogwarts Express, the teen ponders what his relationship with the silver-blonde would be if they had been friends. It doesn't change the past. But it is something to think on when he isn't being bored to death by a dead man.

~ _"The second is that you will treat her as a Lady. Meoquanee-Tasarla may know that she is important to Slytherin, but has no idea how precious she is. She is a Shaman and a Mystic, either one alone is to be respected. Together? There is an entire other level of treatment. She is quite possibly the most powerful person in Great Britain, if not the entirety of Europe. She deserves_ much _more respect than the other Houses give her. To her there is no Dark and Light. Magic is based on intent and how you use it. She and her parents are the single Neutral family in Europe."~_

The word 'Lady' certainly has the implication of a capital letter. Clearly, the foreign teen is more important than she lets on. Maybe Hermione would know of a book on Wizarding etiquette. No. He can't ask her. She would demand to know why he wants the book; what he was going to do with it; and so many other questions he doesn't really want to answer. However dear Hermione is to him, the Witch knows no boundaries when it comes to knowledge. He was going to have to look himself. Or ask Madam Pinch. He'd rather use the surly librarian as a last resort.

 _"Thirdly, you may as well sweep off the table of what you think about Magic off. She is so much closer to the truth of what Magic is and how to use it than anyone in this school. Her parents have a similar connection, but Meoquanee-Tasarla simply knows things that no one else does. She has Sight. Not like Trelawney. There is no form of magical illusion or disguise that she doesn't see through. If she Sees something and tells you, you better damn well listen."~_

Put aside his perspective of Magic. Something he has never been told to do before, instead being treated as a child whenever he shows confusion at something Magical. One of the many things that irritate him, that he had told the Shaman-Mystic. This may actually do him some good. A lot of good honestly. Meoquanee doesn't seem to be the sort of person to ignore someone's confusion. He needs someone that is willing to answer his questions about the Wizarding World. No one else has without making feel a total simpleton. Harry _will_ listen to the girl. She's the only person to offer him help outside of what is taught by professors. That won't be taken for granted.

 _~"Draco and I are with her almost constantly. We're all about to get closer than we ever wanted to, Potter. If you can't handle that you better back out now, Potter. She doesn't need to be wasting her time on someone who won't look past previous actions and focus on now. We're growing up, Potter. Petty rivalries are over."~_

Dealing with Malfoy has never been one of Harry's favorite pastimes. Truth be told he'd rather avoid the fellow teen all together. Blaise does have a good point. They _are_ growing up; with the coming war petty rivalries are not something to put effort or attention into. Harry needs to stop playing games, people's lives are on the line and for some reason quite a few of those people are relying on _him_. No one seems to be bothered by the fact that he's only _fifteen years old_. Who in their right mind places all their hopes on a boy that doesn't know a damned thing about the Wizarding World? Evidently, there really isn't anyone in their right mind within the Order of the Phoenix. Certainly not his godfather.

~ _"We usually study in Meoquanee-Tasarla's room. Draco and I aren't quite comfortable with you being there even if she is. The Room of Requirement is an acceptable substitute for now. Meet us there an hour after dinner. Don't keep her waiting, Potter."~_

Harry groans, falling forward to slap his head on the desk. He feels that it's going to be sometime before Malfoy or Zabini trusts him to be near the Shaman-Mystic alone. She's probably going to want to speak to her parents about this too, thinking about the situation. The first time he's meeting a girl's parents is because he is an inept Wizard. He must have been Jack the Ripper in his past life, _something_ clearly enjoys making his life a comedy show.

~ _Future cackles, picking at the threads on the tapestry. Gleefully having fun with the poor mortal's life._

 _"Sister! Leave the poor boy alone. Haven't you done enough to him?" Past smoothes the finished part of the fabric tenderly. "I mean, look at all the little twists in these threads!"_

 _Future flaps a hand at her sister. "Pah. Boy needs to toughen up. He'll be thanking me later, just you wait." A smooth hand reaches for the unfinished tapestry one more—_

 _"Enough, Sister." Present rubs her temples in an aggravated manner. "Pick on another Main Character. Odin knows we have enough of them."_

 _"All right, all right. I'll let the poor lad be. After…" Nimble fingers dart forward, plucking the red string._

 _"Sister!" Both of the other two snap at Future. The last sister cackles, flitting toward another unfinished tapestry._

 _Past smacks her head against the table the finished parts lay upon. "Hera save us. Future is going to drive us all mad one day."_

 _Present gently pats her older sister on the back. "There, there. we should intervene before she messes with," Present peers over to the work-in-progress that Future now leans over. "Oh dear. Poor Kagome."_

 _Past leaps up, lunging for her youngest sibling. "FUTURE! YOU TOUCH ONE MORE THREAD AND NOT EVEN OSIRIS WILL BE ABLE TO BRING YOU BACK!"_

 _Present sighs wearily. Pinching the bridge of her nose, the Fate attempts to ignore the noise of her squabbling siblings. "Gods give me patience. If you give me strength I might just kill them." From the corner of her eye, Present sees a figure start braiding part of one of the tapestries. Present springs at the figure. "DESTINY!"_

 _"Huh oh." The new being giggles nervously. "I think I made her mad~" She then begins diving through the tapestries, trying to escape her cousin. "Now, Cousin, can't we talk?"_

 _"I AM GOING TO MOUNT YOUR HEAD OVER MY MANTLE PIECE!"_

 _Destiny shrugs. "Eh. It was worth a shot."_

 _While the Fates and their cousin Destiny run about the tapestries like sugar-high homicidal children, several beings slap their heads. The gods then decide that it will be better to discuss their respective Main Characters later._

 _"NOT THE HAIR!"_

 _"HOLD STILL BEFORE I CUT YOUR HEAD OFF WITH IT!"_

 _"DESTINY! YOU TOUCH ONE MORE TAPESTRY—"_

 _"Oopsie~"_

 _Three voices now yell. "DESTINY!"_

 _Yes. The gods decide. Much, much later. ~_


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own Harry Potter and related characters.**

 **There will be OOCness and OCs you have been warned.**

 **We're going to be going into more of the explanations of magic now, so it might get a little lecturey. At any rate, anything that I right is _my_ _personal_ interpretation of what I believe. I'll try my best to be unbiased but I am a human so it will happen. Apologies if I offend.**

 **Thank you to TheColourField, Idek1998, Snowball A.K.A. WinterWolf, , Namless DayDreamer, Ynohtna, largomolo, AnimeFreak9096 for favoriting and following this story.**

Meoquanee tends to consider herself an apathetic, patient person for the most part. It takes some effort for her to become interested or agitated with something/one. Most of the older Shamans and Mystics she has trained under agree that that is the best sort of personality to have for what she is. Shamans and Mystics are often asked to settle arguments and mediate between tribes and caravans. To be a respected Shaman or Mystic, Meoquanee can not let personal feelings affect her decisions.

Draco and Harry seem to enjoy pushing her limits.

They have been arguing and sniping at each other for approximately an hour at this point. Blaise has more or less stayed out of it, having a similar personality to Meoquanee. Slender fingers rub at a dark forehead, wrinkled out of frustration. The Roma-Kiowa realizes that she needs to step in and break up the arguing, can't quite muster enough energy. She asks the Castle for a Japanese styled fan, her own left in a drawer. Hand crafted beauty with exquisite detail appears, spread in open invitation. Violin fingers carefully handle the gift, trembling with gratitude. Then asks forgiveness.

 _Fwip._

 _Thwack._

The opposite teens arguing flinch from the cracking hits of the fan. Turn to the Roma-Kiowa, sheepish. Blaise snickers behind, another _thwick_ has the Snake clutching at his forehead surprise. Meoquanee reseats with the grace and talent of professional dancers, the boys wait for her to speak. "Are you quite finished? I did not come to play Mother."

"Apologies, my lady. It will not happen again." Storms fixate upon her face. "Please, do begin."

"Er, yeah. Sorry Burtenshaw." Round glasses glint. "You can start, won't happen again."

The raised eyebrow doubts the statement, ignored for the time being. The Roma-Kiowa motions to the books before her, rare, old, and excruciatingly difficult to get a hold of. Each one is written by Priest(ess)s, Mystics, or Shamans of various regions. To begin, however, she shall start with what her teachers taught her.

"There are multiple ways to think of the four directions. Two of the most common in the mainstream Magical world are those of the Archangels and the Elements. With the Archangels it's more as if they are the rulers of the kingdoms. Raphael guards the East, a protecting force. Michael watches the South, ever careful. Gabriel presides over the West, taking care of all that is under him. Uriel governs the North, tending to his region with care. This tends to fit more with those that have a more Catholic or Christian upbringing, but is also used by those without.

"The Elementals are more used by the Wizarding community, perhaps you know them?" She ends this with a pause in hopes that the Potter boy is not completely inept.

Bottle green eyes blink, taken aback that she wants him to answer. Studiously ignoring Zabini and Malfoy's snickering, the teenager answers. "Yeah, um, Air is East. Water is West." He pauses, considering the next two. Meoquanee won't laugh if he gets them wrong—of this Harry is certain—but the same is not to be said for the Slytherins to the side of him. He goes with his gut instinct. "Fire is South and Earth is North."

Golden-green eyes appraise him. "Excellent. Hogwarts is not as inept as I have previously believed."

"Er," Harry pushes his glasses up nervously, "I learned that from my friend Hermione. She's not really into that sort of thing, but reads everything she gets her hands on. That was something she found mildly fascinating and shared with me and Ron."

"Ah, how unfortunate." The Shaman pauses introspectively for a moment. "At any rate, you are correct. Each Cardinal direction corresponds with an Element. Colors, zodiac signs, tarot suits, everything is connected to an element in some way, shape, or form. Everything has at least one Element related to it, if not two or three. There are three additional 'directional elements' as it were. Divinity, Spirit, and Chthonic. Are any of these something you have heard before?"

The words sounded familiar—faint, ringing memory—he focused on recalling them. Hermione had mentioned them before, he would swear by it. "Divinity is things like gods and powerful spirits, yeah? Spirit is your inner self, um, also called the Soul. And…" He shakes his head in frustration, angry at himself. "I don't—I don't know the last one."

The young Mystic waves his apology. "I would be astounded if you did. Chthonic is a word that refers to spirits and other mythical beings that reside beneath the Earth. Typically it refers to demonic and infernal creatures, but not all that dwell beneath the Earth are malevolent. We'll get into that later. For now," a rather dark mischievous glint appears in bright gold, "all of you. You as well, Draco and Blaise. _All_ of you get to sense and connect to your corresponding Element so that you may master it."

Opposing Houses and childhood rivalries become very non-existent in that moment as the three boys exchange a look of shared fear and dread. Meoquanee is a little _too_ gleeful at this prospect and none of them are eager to find out why.


End file.
